Broken
by lilmisblack
Summary: They took her and made her their slave. They left her broken, lost. When she escaped, everything she had once known was gone, and there was only one man that could help her pick up the pieces of who she had once been. A man that had been broken himself.
1. Prologue

"Look, there's one!" Harry whispered, raising his arm and pointing at the shooting star crossing the sky. "Make a wish!"

With a smile, she moved a little closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. She watched the small star move through the sky, but didn't make a wish. She already had everything she could ever want.

She reached for Harry's outstretched arm and threaded her fingers with his, watching his larger hand wrap around hers. It was so calm there, the two of them alone at night, lying on the grass and watching the stars. She hoped the rest of her life, of their life, would be like that. She couldn't remember being so happy.

"You know, I was thinking," Harry said, as he lowered their arms, "maybe we could go somewhere, until things calm down a little here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everything's a little crazy, with the press following us, and the Ministry trying to round up the last Death Eaters. Maybe it'd be a good time for a trip. The two of us."

With her eyes still on the twinkling stars in the sky, she whispered, "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know, France, or maybe Italy. Where would you like to go?"

"Rome."

"Then Rome it is. Oh, another one," he said, and her eyes followed a second shooting star. She tilted her head and watched him close his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"What did you wish for?" she asked, when he opened his eyes again.

"Can't tell you."

"Yes, you can. Please?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he said with a broad smile, as he turned on his side to face her.

"Fine. You first."

"I wished for us to always be this happy."

"I wished for a kiss."

"Really?" he asked, and she smiled as she nodded. "Well, I think your wish is about to come true."

She licked her lips as she watched him lean closer, felt his lips against hers, and her eyes closed as she gave in to the feeling. She pulled him to her as she parted her lips, and felt the world vanish around them as they kissed. In that precious moment nothing else existed. Nothing but the two of them.

"I love you," Harry said between kisses.

"I love you, too," she replied. And she did. More than she had ever loved anybody. It had taken them so long to realise their perfect partners had always been there, standing by their side. But finally her eyes had opened, and so had his, and they had seen the truth. Now they were together, happy, talking about marriage, and kids, and growing old together. And after everything they had gone through, the war, the fear, the loss, she knew they both deserved the happiness they had received.

"Maybe we should go back home," Harry suggested, moving his hands up her sides, and she nodded. Then he leaned down again for another lingering kiss.

This time, when she opened her eyes, it wasn't dark any more. The green light fell from the sky tinting the world in that colour that preceded pain and death. They both reached for their wands, their reflexes fast from years of practice. But the Death Eaters hidden in the shadows were already attacking.


	2. The Beep

A soft beeping sound was the first thing she noticed. It sounded strange, a short beep, a second of silence, and then another beep. The sound wasn't loud, but it felt as if it were drilling into her brain, pushing everything else away. It was also dark, but she had the feeling that her eyes were closed, so that might explain it. Not that she wasn't used to waking up in the dark, but this just felt…different.

Her body felt heavy and her muscles unresponsive, but there was no pain, which was strange. There should be pain, there always was. The rhythm of the beeping changed, she noticed. The beeps came closer together, faster. It was strange, but she was certain her heart was following that rhythm for some reason, beating with every beep she heard.

_Wake up,_ she told herself. It was obvious she had fallen asleep, but it seemed as if that slumber lingered, and she needed to be alert. Always alert, always waiting for them to come. She took a careful, shallow breath, mentally readying herself for a pain that did not come. Her chest didn't ache at the intake of air, there was no sharp sting from that spot on her side she was pretty sure was a broken rib and had become used to. She took another breath, a little deeper this time, but still felt no pain.

The beeping was faster now, almost frantic, and her heart beats kept the same tempo. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound was making her head hurt, and it was strangely comforting to feel some pain again. Then another sound reached her ears, a soft sound she was almost certain was a voice. But it was little more than a murmur; it was probably her imagination.

She tried to open her eyes, but the light was blinding, so she closed them again. Beep, beep, beep. It as getting faster and faster, and she couldn't will her heart to slow down, to disregard the sound and beat at a normal rhythm. And the murmur was there, too, a little louder now. Yes, it was a voice, a deep, soft voice, and whatever they were saying, it sounded a lot like her name. She hadn't heard anyone utter her name in so long. But she couldn't understand why it sounded so soft, almost worried, caring. No one ever spoke to her like that.

Another breath gave her the strength of mind she needed to open her eyes, but the second they adjusted to the light she knew something was wrong. This wasn't her cell. She always woke up in her cell, and this wasn't it. There was a figure moving closer, looming over her, and the second she recognised it she understood. She felt tears well in her eyes, but she wasn't sure whether they were tears of sorrow or of happiness.

A small smile twitched her lips, and she managed to whisper, "So they finally killed me."

It made sense, of course. She should have understood it sooner. There was no pain here, and light was everywhere, and she was surrounded by white, instead of the grey rocks and copper bars she had become accustomed to. She shouldn't have needed to see the face of a dead man to understand her body had finally given up.

"Hermione, you're awake," the man said, leaning closer, and she was strangely comforted by the familiar face of Sirius Black. At least there would be someone here she knew.

She tried to blink back the tears as she nodded, but couldn't stop a few from rolling down her cheeks. She tried to lift her arms to her face to wipe them away, but she couldn't. She tugged at whatever was holding her down, trapping her, but they wouldn't give. The beeping sound got louder and louder, and her treacherous heart followed suit, but the sound of its beats wasn't enough to drown the beeping.

"No, no," she cried, as she shook her head. This couldn't be happening. She was supposed to be dead, free of them at last, but she was restrained, tied to the bed she was lying on. She knew this wasn't a dream so she had to be hallucinating. "No, please, no," she whimpered, as she fought the restraints in what she knew was a lost battle. They didn't feel like the chains she was used to, but they were as constricting, trapping her in her living hell.

Warm hands on her face stopped the frantic movement, their touch as soft and as comforting as that voice had been. She focused on the grey eyes in front of her, on the locks of black hair that surrounded Sirius' face, and for a second she wondered why he was there, why she was hallucinating with him. But then she heard his voice again, asking her to calm down, telling her she was all right, and as the beeping sounds slowed down so did her heart.

"They had to restrain you so you wouldn't rip the bandages off," he explained, then moved one of his hands away from her face, and the next second whatever had been holding her arms down was gone.

She looked down at herself, watching the thick bandages covering her arms. There was something over her, some cables, attached to something on her chest. With a sudden sense of panic she ripped the cables off and scrambled off the bed, away from the man her mind had created.

The beep, beep, beep was gone, replaced by a shrill, ear-piercing sound, but she barely noticed it as she backed away from the bed and its restraints, crawling towards a corner and covering her ears with her hands. She would keep her back to the wall, just like she had learnt to do. It was the only way to be sure she would see them coming. It was the only way she could defend herself. She stayed there, crouched on the floor, as her gaze darted from Sirius to the door behind him.

She screamed when the door banged open and people started running inside. She looked around desperately, trying to find something she could use as a weapon. There was a pair of slippers by the bed, and she reached forward enough to take one before pushing herself deeper into that corner. She held the slipper in her hand, knowing it wouldn't help her, but still needing to defend herself. They would win, they always did, and she knew what would happen, she knew what they would do. It was worse when she fought back, the curses were stronger, the torture lasted longer, they stayed with her all night, but still she wouldn't sit back, she wouldn't just give in.

They were strangers. As she looked at the people that had barged into the room, she realised she didn't know any of their faces. What was going on? Where was she? Was this all part of her hallucination or had they perhaps traded her for someone else, tired of their toy after who knew how many years.

They loomed over her, but they looked worried, not angry. And they didn't go for her, not yet. They stayed a few feet away from her, looking uncertain, for some reason.

Then someone called her name again. Not Whore, or Mudblood, or Slave. Someone said, "Hermione," just like Sirius had. Then the strangers parted, and she saw a face she knew. A face she would have expected her brain to use, if she was imagining all this. It was Harry, her Harry.

"Hermione," he said again, and took a tentative step closer. She tightened her hold on the slipper even as tears started to roll down her face unchecked. This was all a dream, just her imagination. She couldn't let her guard down, she couldn't be distracted. Her real captors would be there soon. They never left her alone for long. She had to be ready for them.

But still her arm lowered as Harry took a step closer. Still her heart slowed down at the mere sound of his voice.

"Hermione, it's okay," he whispered, as he kneeled before her. "It's okay," he repeated, reaching forward and taking the slipper from her hand.

_Don't let go,_ the voice of reason yelled in her brain. _Don't give up, don't let it go. _But her fingers loosened around the slipper as her shoulders shook. She cried, cried like she hadn't allowed herself to in years. She closed her eyes and cried, feeling strong arms around her, strong arms she was sure would vanish any second now. But it didn't matter. Whatever comfort she could get, she would take it, even if the memory of it would make every other second she lived through all the more painful. She rested her head on Harry's shoulder and cried her heart out, cried for all that she had lost, cried for the love she had once found with him, and for the men that had taken it all away. But above all, she cried for part of herself, the part that made her who she was, that had died so long ago, even if her body refused to acknowledge that death.

She heard Harry's voice in her ear, telling her she was safe now, telling her he wouldn't let anything happen to her. She heard him as he said she could go home, as he told her she had escaped, that he knew she would find a way, that no one would ever take her away from him again. She heard the pain in his voice, felt his own body shake as he, too, cried, and she allowed herself to hope perhaps this was real, that perhaps she really was safe from them. But still she cried.


	3. The Watch

_Two hours_. It had been two hours. Someone had given her a watch, and she had been staring at it since, watching as the seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, turning into hours. She had ran out of tears long ago, but she hadn't moved out of her corner, holding the pocket watch as if it were the most precious thing in the world, hearing the rhythmic _tic, tic, tic_ of time moving on, waiting for no one.

Harry had left with the strangers, and they had closed the door again, but Sirius had stayed behind. She was glad for that, she didn't want to be alone in that strange room, wondering if it would all vanish in a second. Two hours, one minute.

Sirius was sitting close to her, but not too close. He had been silent the entire time, just sitting there and watching the opposite wall, offering silent company. It had been him that had given her the watch, now that she thought about it. He had held it out to her by the chain, and when she'd looked at him in question, he'd merely shrugged and smiled. She still wasn't sure why she'd taken it. _Two hours, two minutes_.

She felt him move beside her, and let her gaze dart from the watch to him as he stretched out his legs and arched his back.

"I'm too old to sit still for so long," he said. "How long have we been here?"

"Two hours, three minutes," she said, and saw him smile. Only then did she realise that, with the little ticking sound, the fear had started to slowly faint. It wasn't gone, but it wasn't ruling her every move and reaction. Her heart wasn't trying to beat out of her chest, the voice of danger in her head wasn't screaming that she needed to run away.

"I knew that would help you calm down," he said. "It always works for me."

They fell silent again, and she focused on the watch. _Two hours, six minutes_. Holding it, watching it, gave her a sense of control she couldn't understand, but it was welcomed nonetheless.

"You're dead," she said, when she reached the count of two hours, fourteen minutes. She saw him turn to her from the corner of her eye. "How can you be here if you're dead?"

"I didn't die," he explained, "I was just trapped inside the veil."

"How did you get back?" she asked, turning to him, watching his expression change, as if he were remembering something painful.

"I guess I was lucky," he said, with a small shrug.

"How did _I_ get back?" Her need to know what had happened to her was stronger than any reserve, any distrust for this man she barely knew, that she hadn't seen in so long. This man she still wasn't sure was real.

"We don't know much, yet," he said. "Harry was contacted by Muggle authorities this morning. They said you were in this hospital, and little else." He rested his head back against the wall but never looked away from her as he spoke in that same soft tone. "We spoke with the police when we arrived, but then I waited here in the room while Harry talked to the medical staff, and about an hour after we arrived you woke up. We didn't even have time to call anyone else. I was with Harry when he received the call, and we came here right away."

"But how…"

"How did you get here?" he finished her question, and she nodded. "From what they said, the Muggle police believe you escaped from whoever was holding you captive. There were fresh cuts on your feet, and splinters of wood, as if you had ran barefoot through a forest. At some point you fell into a river. The current was very strong after weeks of rain, and it dragged you downhill, where a fisherman saw you." He gave her a few seconds to take in all that information before continuing. "You weren't breathing when he found you, your heart had stopped but he did something, I think they called it CRP, and got your heart beating again. You were lucky he was there."

"Lucky," she repeated, looking away. "Do you-" She took a deep breath before asking a question she wasn't sure she wanted an answer for. "Do you know how long it was? For how long I was…away?"

When he didn't answer, she turned to him again. The expression on his face was sad, as if he knew she didn't really want to know, but understood she needed to. Finally, he said, "It's been four years and five months, six months this Wednesday."

"I…" She looked up at the roof, trying to blink fresh tears away as she tried to speak. "It felt so much longer," she whispered. "It felt so much longer."

"I know the feeling," he said, moving closer to her, so their shoulders were touching. She shied away from him without even thinking, breaking the contact, but still somewhere in her mind she was glad for the small touch, the small sense of comfort it provided. But more so for his understanding, for the fact that he seemed to know she needed space, and needed company at the same time.

The door opened again, and Harry was there. His gaze darted from her to Sirius, before he asked, "Is everything okay?"

She looked down, focusing on the watch in her hands again. _Two hours, forty eight minutes._

"They need me to stay here a while longer, they want me to wait for some detective. It could take a few hours."

"I can stay here with her."

"Actually, I was thinking it would be best if we took her somewhere else, somewhere familiar. Would you mind taking her to Grimmauld Place and waiting for me there?"

"What do you say, Hermione," Sirius asked her, his voice still as soft as it had been from the moment she woke up. It felt good to be taken into consideration, to be asked her opinion. She had missed that. "Would you like to go to Grimmauld Place?"

She wasn't sure she wanted to go there, but she didn't want to stay in this room any more, so she lifted her head to look at him again and nodded.

"We'll wait for you there," Sirius said, and after a few more seconds she heard the door close. "Do you think you can Apparate there with me, or would you rather use a Muggle taxi?"

She felt her heart beating faster again, and it took her a moment to realise she was scared- Scared of leaving this place, afraid they would find her. She couldn't risk them getting to her again, she couldn't go back to that place. She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling her knees to her chest as her gaze locked on the door. They would find her, they would come, they always did. If she went out they would get her, they would take her to her cell again, they would…

Sirius' hand was on her face, forcing her to turn to him, and even as she winced at the contact his touch made her feel safer, his grey eyes made her feel calm. He was telling her it would be all right, asking her to calm down, promising her nothing would hurt her, but it wasn't his words that made her feel better. It was the certainty on his face, the honesty in his eyes, that made her allow herself to believe him, if only for a few minutes.

"There are lots of people out there, I'm sure they won't notice if we Apparate from here. Is that okay?" he asked, and after a few seconds she nodded, hesitantly taking the hand he offered and letting him pull her to her feet. "Ready?" he asked, as he pulled her closer, and she let him hold her arm as the world around her spun and vanished.


	4. The Ring

She had to vomit. She couldn't remember the last time she had put anything in her stomach, but as the world around her became solid again, all she knew was nausea.

She turned away from Sirius and fell to her knees, feeling her stomach retch and knowing there was no way she would make it to the toilet. She felt him move closer, felt him pull her hair away from her face, as he whispered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have Apparated us here, it was a bad idea. We should've-"

But by then she wasn't listening anymore. It seemed as if, with the Apparition, all the pain had returned. The room around her spun for different reasons than before, and as all the bones in her body seemed to melt, she fell to the side. She distantly heard him call her name, then felt strong arms move beneath her, pull her up against a warm body, and she was floating, floating around the room, up the stairs, down a hallway. The soft murmurs of her name, small reassurances that she would be all right, accompanied her from the floor at the entrance hall to a bed.

He lay her down on the bed and walked away, leaving her alone in that dark room with all the pain back. The second she realised she was alone the fear returned, stronger than before, and the tears started falling again. Had that wonderful hallucination finally ended? Was she back in her dark cell, alone and waiting for them, hopeless, broken? She wanted to get up and run, run far away, but the pain didn't let her sit up, much less walk. She closed her eyes and rolled to the side, falling off the bed. She wasn't strong enough to run, but she wasn't helpless. She would crawl if she had to, anything to get away from that dark room.

Then his voice was there again, beside her, but she was too far gone. It didn't matter who he was, it didn't matter that his tone was soft, worried. She had to get out of there, she had to fight, had to escape. She tried to get away from him, tried to crawl to the door, but with a muttered curse he reached for her arm, pulling her to him. She screamed and kicked, and tried to fight him, but a second later her body was frozen, every muscle petrified, unmovable.

"I'm sorry," he was saying, again and again, as he took her in his arms and carried her back to the bed. "You're bleeding, and you won't stop fighting, you're hurting yourself," he muttered, whispering a spell that cast some light over them. "I'm going to lift the charm now," he told her, "and you're going to stay still, all right?"

He lifted the charm, but it was as if her body didn't know it. Every inch of her was still paralysed by fear, and even as his calming voice reached her ears, it wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," he whispered again. "I brought you some potions for the pain. They will help you until we can get you to a healer."

She watched him with wide eyes as he lifted a small vial and moved it closer to her face, but she pursed her lips tightly and shook her head. She remembered the potions they always gave her, the potions they forced down her throat. She remembered the ones that brought pain, the ones that made her feel as if her body was on fire, or being ripped open, the ones that made her scream herself raw as they laughed and cheered. Just like she remembered the ones they gave her when they thought they had hurt her too badly, the ones that kept her alive when all she wanted to do was give up, when all she wanted was for it to be over. So she fought him, like she had fought all those times, because potions were never good.

"Hermione, please," he said, "you need to take this. It's not going to hurt you, I promise."

"No, please," she begged, as she shied away from the vial. "Please don't make me take them. I'll be good, I promise, but don't…"

With a sad expression on his face, he moved his hand away from her, leaving the vial on the nightstand. She looked at him, confused and surprised. They never gave up, no matter how much she fought, how much she begged, but now he had moved the vial away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, giving her time to calm down. "I won't make you take the potion if you don't want to, but I know you're in pain, and that potion can take it away."

She stared at him for a few seconds, feeling her body and her mind calm at his words, even if she couldn't completely trust that he was telling her the truth. She could barely remember a time when someone hadn't wanted to hurt her for their own amusement, or just to pass the time. She couldn't remember a time when she could trust someone.

But before he could say anything else they heard a woman's voice calling his name.

He looked at her for a second, as if unable to decide whether he should stay with her or walk away to answer the call. He seemed to decide he would stay, or perhaps he hesitated for too long; either way, the voice grew closer, and then a witch was there.

"Sirius?" she called again, as she poked her head into the room. "Harry just called me and asked me to come here but he didn't…" The woman's voice died away when her eyes fell on Hermione. The lights in the room were dimmed, and it was dark outside, but even though she couldn't see the woman she thought her voice sounded slightly familiar.

The woman took a step into the room, and then another, her head tilted to the side, her movements hesitant. Then she gasped in recognition.

"Hermione?" she finally said, and rushed closer.

Her mind told her the red hair she could now see belonged to Ginny Weasley, even if her face had changed, but that didn't stop the new surge of panic as the witch moved so fast, standing by the bed in a split second, her hand reaching forward.

Hermione scrambled backwards, somehow managing to sit up and push herself against the wall, trying to get as far away from the woman as she could. It was Sirius that stopped the witch, him that stepped between them and pushed her back.

She held her knees to her chest as she watched Sirius talk in hushed tones with the witch. She could feel Ginny's eyes on her, and she couldn't help but squirm as she looked around, trying to find something to defend herself with if it came to that. She couldn't trust her, couldn't trust anyone. She only had herself, and she had to be strong. Fight. Survive.

She didn't have the watch in her hand any more, so she didn't know for how long they had been talking. Time was hard to measure without the rhythmic tic, tic, tic, of the clock. When the voices died away, Ginny stayed where she was, and Sirius moved closer to her bed.

His movements were slow, as if he didn't want to frighten her. His voice was soft, calm. "Are you all right?"

She looked from him to Ginny, and then nodded.

"Harry asked Ginny to come here," he explained. "She's a healer, and can help you." He gave her a few seconds before speaking again. "You're hurt, Hermione, and you're bleeding." She looked down at herself for the first time. The hospital gown was soaked red over her stomach and chest. "Will you let Ginny take a look at those wounds?" When she didn't respond he added, "Please."

She stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly let go of her knees. Sirius smiled slightly at her as he beckoned Ginny closer. Hermione noticed the witch's movements were slow this time, and for a moment she wondered what Sirius might have said to her. But then Ginny was by the bed, and it took all of her will not to crawl away again, to find somewhere she could be alone, away from everyone; safe.

"I'm going to need you to lie down," Ginny said, and she looked at Sirius again, not sure what she should do. He gave her a reassuring smile and a nod, and she did as Ginny asked. Slowly, more conscious of the pain than she had been moments before, she slid away from the wall and lay down again. "I'll need to see those wounds," Ginny said next. "I will have to remove the gown."

She looked down at the bloodied piece of cloth she was wearing, and wondered how badly she could have been cut for it to be soaked in so much red.

"I'll wait outside," Sirius said, taking a step towards the door.

Her eyes fell on Ginny, on her hand reaching into her robes, probably searching for her wand, and without stopping to think she croaked, "No."

They both froze for a heartbeat, unsure of whom she was talking to. But she kept her eyes on Sirius, and after a moment, he turned to her again. "You want me to stay here?" he asked, and she gave a small nod. She didn't want to be alone with Ginny there, while she looked at her wounds and saw what had been done to her body, but above all she just didn't want him to leave. He made her feel a little safer, and that was something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

With a nod, Sirius pulled a small chair closer to the bed and sat by her side. Hermione turned to Ginny again, just as she pulled her wand from a pocket and aimed it at her. She gasped, instinct kicking in as she tried to sit up again, but Sirius took her hand and whispered, "It's okay."

"I'm sorry, I…" Ginny muttered, nervously. "I have to vanish the gown; taking it off in any other way could hurt you more. The blood might have made the material stick to the wounds."

Sirius gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she closed her eyes and nodded. She felt the cold air against her skin as the magic left her lying there naked, and then she heard Ginny's, "Dear Merlin!"

She bit on her lower lip as she let go of Sirius and reached for something to cover herself with, not because she was nude, she had grown more than used to that, but because she knew what they were seeing on her body. The cuts, the burns, the marks the belts and whips had left, the bruises…that was what made her feel naked, exposed; the fact that they could see what had been done to her, see how she had been used, abused.

Sirius took her hand again before she could find any cover, and she felt him lean closer to whisper to her that it was okay. She felt hot tears running down her cheeks again, but refused to open her eyes. She could do this, she could stay still while her wounds were healed. She tightened her hold on Sirius' hand when she felt fingers on her stomach, but did not move.

"Do you know what they did to her at the hospital?"

"No," Sirius said. "I didn't talk to the Muggle doctors. Didn't Harry tell you?"

"He just told me to come here. Hermione, do you remember anything from the hospital?" Ginny asked. She couldn't reply, she was too focused on not moving, on not squirming away. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid she would start screaming at her to get away.

"She wasn't awake," Sirius said.

A few more minutes passed, or perhaps seconds, those that seemed to last forever, and the fingers moved to her side.

"She had some kind of surgery," Ginny muttered, as she pressed her fingers slightly on a spot under her ribs. She bit her lip and didn't scream, no matter how much it hurt. "I'll have to get rid of the stitches before I can heal the wounds properly, but it's going to hurt. I have some potions that would-"

Her hold on Sirius' hand was so tight she was sure it hurt him, but still he didn't take the hand away. Instead, he quickly said, "No potions, she doesn't want potions."

"It will be painful."

"No potions, Ginny."

She kept her eyes closed, her breaths slow and her hand tight around Sirius' while Ginny healed her wounds. She wasn't sure how long it took, she only focused on the pain as she tried to stay still. The pain helped clear her head, and it wasn't as bad as most of the things they had done to her, so she didn't scream, or even gasp. She just waited for it to be over.

"The internal wounds are closed," Ginny said, finally taking her hands off her. "I healed the scars from the surgery, but the older ones can't be healed so easily. The-"

"Is it done?" she interrupted. She couldn't take another minute of lying there.

"Well, yes, but-"

She didn't hear the rest. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the bed and used her free hand to pull the sheet over her body.

"I have some salves for the older scars and bruises. I can bring them over-"

"I'm fine," she interrupted again. She didn't want potions or salves, didn't want charms or spells or any other kind of magic on her. She had lived with scars and bruises for years, she didn't need her help with them.

She watched Ginny hesitate by the bed, then reach inside a small bag she hadn't noticed before.

"This will help with the pain," she said, offering Sirius a vial filled with purple liquid. Ginny's arm stretched over her, and her eyes were drawn to the witch's hand. Her heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped taking air in, and her brain forgot everything but what she was seeing: The ring on Ginny's finger.

She and Sirius must have continued talking, but she wasn't hearing them any more. All she could do was stare at the ring Ginny was wearing, one of the few Potter family heirlooms left, the ring Harry had shown her once, the ring Harry had told her he would give her on their wedding day. She tried to blink back the tears that welled in her eyes, but there was no stopping them, just as there was no stopping her heart from breaking.

She vaguely noticed the voices had died away, and realised she must have been staring at the ring for too long when Ginny hastily pulled her hand away and buried it into her pocket. She said something then, perhaps to Sirius, perhaps to her. She didn't know or care. Her eyes remained on Ginny's hand, even though now it was covered by the dark material of her robes. Even as the witch stopped talking and walked out of the room, her eyes followed that ring, her world reduced to one small object.

"How long?"

"What?" Sirius asked, but she was sure he knew what she meant.

She pulled the sheets tighter against her chest as she tried to speak through the knot on her throat. "How long ago?"

His answer filled her with dread. "It doesn't matter."

"Tell me," she breathed, tightening her hold on his hand. "Please."

"Maybe you should talk to-"

"Please," she repeated, hating how broken her voice sounded.

"It was…" he took a deep breath, and she could see in his face that he didn't want to tell her. But she had to know, she needed to know what had happened, why Harry had moved on, why he had married another woman instead of waiting for her. Almost four and a half years, she had been gone for a long time, but she would have waited forever for him. She would have waited forever.

"Tell me," she insisted, one more time.

"About three years ago," he finally said. "He married her about three years ago."


	5. The Mirror

Three years. Sirius' words kept ringing in her ears, her mind refusing to accept them. How could this have happened?

Sirius waited in silence, giving her the time she needed, and a part of her wondered at that. Why did he seem to understand what was happening so well? Why did he always know what to say, or do? It had only been a few hours, but he somehow managed to make her feel safe when he was there, made her feel she didn't have to worry about her behaviour, or her words. It seemed he would understand.

"Would you like to take a shower?" Sirius asked at some point. "Or would you rather get some rest?"

She looked down at herself again, noting the sheet seemed to have stuck to her torso at some places, as if not all the blood had been cleaned. She knew someone had cleaned her body at the hospital, had noticed it the second she had looked down at her skin, but she hadn't had a shower in years, not since she had been taken. They had used cleaning charms on her some times, others they had sank her into water, keeping her down there until she wasn't breathing anymore, only to then pull her out and revive her and start over again. Most of the time, however, they had thrown her back into her cell without bothering. There had been a small stream of water running through the side of the cell, and that was all she had been able to use for years to clean them off her body. Yes, she wanted a shower.

With most of the wounds healed, she felt strong enough to stand, and was thankful when Sirius didn't try to help her. Instead, he stepped away from the bed and walked slightly in front of her, guiding her to the bathroom.

"I can run the bath for you, it will only take a few moments," he said, but she quickly shook her head. She didn't want to be surrounded by water, didn't want to sink into it until the air ran out of her lungs and they filled with liquid, not again. "A shower, then?" he asked, and she nodded.

The water was hot, but it didn't burn. It felt so good on her body. She took a cloth and carefully washed the blood away from her skin, watching the scars that covered her body, the bruises around her wrists and ankles. She tried to remind herself that it was over, that she was safe now, but it was hard to accept it. She had only known pain for so long that all this seemed strange, ethereal. She still kept expecting to wake up in the cell again, with them coming for her.

She stayed in the shower for so long that her skin started to wrinkle, washing her hair, rinsing it, and then washing it again. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she scrubbed her skin red, or how many times she washed her hair, she still felt dirty.

Eventually, she decided she couldn't stay in there any more, so she turned the water off and carefully stepped out of the tub. Sirius had left a towel there for her, and some clothes.

"Everything all right?" he called from the other side of the closed door.

"Yes," she said, her voice low enough that she wondered if he could hear it from outside the bathroom.

She dried herself off, and then took a closer look at what Sirius had left there. Some sweat pants and a shirt that probably belonged to him. No underwear, but then again, it wasn't a surprise. Besides, it was something she was more than accustomed to. The clothes themselves were an incredible gesture that she was thankful for.

The pants were too big for her, as was the shirt, but it felt good to be dressed, so she didn't care. She was hesitant as she stepped closer to the mirror, as she wondered what she would look like. She hadn't seen her reflection since she had been taken.

There was a burn scar on the side of her face from the day after she had been taken. They had said it was their mark, their brand, to show she belonged to them. There was another scar that ran along the base of her jaw, from the night they had slit her throat and said they wanted to know how long it would take a Mudblood to bleed out. She tried to see past those marks, tried to see herself in the mirror. Hermione. She knew Hermione was somewhere in there. Her face was thin, her cheeks hollow, there were circles under her eyes so dark that they looked like bruises. Her lips were chipped and dry. But she was there.

Her hair was long, much too long, and so tangled she didn't think she would ever be able to fix it. Not that she cared. They had loved her hair, loved holding on to it as they hurt her, loved grabbing it and dragging her out of her cell by it, loved using it to pull her back every time they thrust into-

She couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand looking at the mirror and seeing what had become of her, what they had done. Everything she saw was a constant reminder of what she had been through. She reached forward and crushed her fist into the mirror, watching the reflection shatter.

There was a small cabinet behind the mirror, full of vials and bottles and who knew what other things she paid no attention to as she frantically searched for something that would help her. She didn't care what she knocked down as she went through the shelves, searching, searching, until finally she found what she wanted.

One of her hands reached for a chunk of hair, the other took the scissors and cut. She could distantly hear Sirius banging on the door, but all she could focus on was the scissors, on the hair that fell to the floor as she cut it. They wouldn't touch it any more; they wouldn't use it to-

Sirius was there, kneeling beside her, although she couldn't remember falling to her knees. She kept trying to cut the hair, but he wouldn't let her. He pushed her hands away, yanking the scissors from her fingers and throwing them somewhere else. She could see his lips move as he forced her to look at him, but no sound reached her ears.

She needed to cut her hair. That was all that mattered. She had to cut her hair, so they couldn't touch it any more. So she wouldn't have to feel them pulling, yanking. She had to-

There were arms around her again, pulling her closer to Sirius, and she hadn't even realised that she was crying again. She wasn't weak, she was strong. She didn't want to cry any more.

But for some reason her arms moved around him, and she held on to him now as she had to Harry in the hospital. Harry. Her Harry.

Her body shook with every sob as she remembered him, as she remembered what they had had, as she remembered making plans for a life together, for a future, for a family. But now all of that was gone. He had moved on. He had married Ginny. She would have waited for him forever, and he had married another woman a year after she had been taken. Hadn't he loved her? Hadn't he wanted the same things she had back when she was alive, and with him?

For so many nights his memory had been the only thing that kept her alive, that kept a shadow of sanity in her broken body. For years she had believed he was out there looking for her, that he would find her, that he would rescue her. That they would have the life they had dreamed about.

And now that last part of her was gone. But then again, why would he still want her? She was broken now, used, ruined. She was a shell of the girl he had known, of the girl he had loved once, perhaps. She should be happy that he had moved on, happy that he had a life, something she could no longer give him. She should be happy for him, but all she felt was dead inside.

Sirius was still holding her, muttering things into her ear she couldn't understand, and she wanted to pull away from him, wanted to crawl into a dark corner and stay there until death finally took her. What else was there left for her? But she didn't push him away, she didn't have the strength. His arms around her made her feel safe, protected, and she couldn't give that up. Even if everything else was gone.


	6. The Fight

Hermione stood up and looked at the fixed mirror over the bathroom sink. She didn't let her eyes linger on her face and neck, but focused on her hair. After the tears had died away, she had reached for the scissors again, but Sirius had taken them before she could grab them and offered to cut the hair for her. He probably didn't trust her with the scissors, but it didn't matter. She didn't care who did it, as long as the hair was cut.

Watching her reflection now almost made her smile. She had power over herself again. She was free to decide what her hair should look like, or when she would have a shower. She could decide what clothes to wear, and when to speak. She ran her hands through the short strands tentatively. She'd never worn her hair so short before, but she liked it. She liked the change, she liked the small sense of freedom it gave her.

"Can I heal your hand now?" Sirius asked, and her eyes darted from her reflection to his as he stood up behind her. She watched him for a few seconds, then turned around and held her hand out to him. She had refused to let him heal her until then, not before the hair was cut. The blood had dried now, and it barely hurt unless she moved her fingers, but she didn't need more scars on her body. They had left enough of those. And anyway, what was this compared to the pain she had endured for years, now? "Sorry about the clothes. We have to get you some new ones."

She looked down at the white shirt that was now stained with blood, and the baggy pants for a moment. How could she explain that it didn't matter, that just the fact of having clothes was enough?

Sirius reached for his wand then, vanishing the cut strands of hair from the floor with a quick flick of his wrist before wiping the blood from her shirt. The sudden movement made her jump slightly, but she reminded herself that he wouldn't hurt her. He wasn't like them.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said, smiling apologetically. "Come now let's get you something to eat."

Hermione followed him absently out of the bathroom, through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. She sat at the table, making sure to keep her back to the wall, as she watched Sirius go about the large kitchen, searching through the shelves for everything he would need. She didn't really want to eat, but the second the smell of eggs and toasts reached her nose, her stomach churned loudly in hunger.

A few minutes later there was a plate in front of her, and she closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, enjoying the delicious smell.

"I can get you something else if you don't think you can handle this," Sirius said hesitantly, as he set his own plate on the table.

Instead of replying, she reached for her fork and started eating in silence. The food tasted as good as it had smelt, and she would have eaten until there was nothing left, but after just a few moments her stomach gave her a rumbled warning.

"You don't have to finish it if you don't want to," Sirius said, when he noticed her staring at the plate. "I know how hard it is to get your stomach used to real food when you've spent a long time eating the same thing over and over again."

She set the fork down, then reached forward and took the glass he had filled with pumpkin juice. It was cold, just the way she liked it. The juice had been her favourite drink, back in her old life. She took a small sip as she watched Sirius eat and wondered once more why he seemed to understand so well what she was going through.

"Got something on my lip?" he asked with a smirk. "Think you've been staring at me today longer than any other girl I ever met, and that's saying something." When she didn't say anything, he put down his fork and straightened up in his chair, frowning slightly. "Everything all right?"

"Thank you," she muttered. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her words.

"You don't have to thank me," he said. "I know what you're going through, I know how hard it is to suddenly be back in the real world. I'll help you in any way I can, if you'll let me."

"Thank you," she repeated.

"I know it's hard to believe now," he said, leaning forward, reaching for her hand but hesitating before their fingers touched., "but it will be okay."

"How?" She wanted to believe his words, but she couldn't. She was broken beyond repair, she was only the shell of who she had once been. There was nothing left of her, or for her; how could it ever be okay?

"I thought the same thing many times, thought everything was over, that all that was left was the pain, the memories, the darkness. I still don't know the answer to that question, I don't know how it will be okay, but I promise you, someday it will."

She looked away, not wanting to even hope that would be possible. Good things didn't seem to happen to her any more. She took the fork again, and absently moved what was left of the food around the plate, needing to give herself something to do.

"If you're done with that, we can go set a room for you. I'm sure you could use some rest."

"I…" she started, in a soft voice. She wasn't sure she would be able to sleep if she wanted to, but she didn't feel like staying there and talking, so it was probably for the best. With another nod, she pushed her chair from the table and stood up. She wasn't sure why she kept to the nods instead of speaking, perhaps she was simply used to it, but a part of her was afraid that if she started speaking, she wouldn't be able to stop. And there were things she didn't want to share. Things that should die with her.

"You can use the bedroom closest to the bathroom, if you-" Sirius' voice trailed off, and she lifted her head in confusion, only to see Harry standing by the door. He seemed just as startled to see them there, as if he had been standing in that same spot for some time now. She quickly looked away.

"Hi," he said after a few seconds of hesitation.

Sirius greeted him, and they exchanged a few words, but she wasn't really listening. From the second she had seen Harry there, all she had been able to think of was the ring on Ginny's finger. She couldn't help feeling betrayed, couldn't help the pain in her heart at seeing what she had lost, or the anger at finding out he had given up.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, and she forced her gaze back to him. "How are you?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What did he expect her to answer? Didn't a simple glance in her direction tell him exactly how she was? She settled for a shrug.

"I…I wanted to come earlier, but they kept me at the hospital for…" He trailed off when he saw she wasn't listening. "I asked Ginny to come here," he tried again. "I thought it would be better if it was someone you knew. The doctors mentioned the wounds, and I didn't think you'd want to go to St Mungo's and-"

"Yes. She was here. Thank you," she said, not wanting to hear any more of his explanations. Every minute she spent with him, knowing what he had done, hurt as much as any torture they'd put her through.

"So she was able to heal all the wounds without having to take you to St Mungo's?" Harry asked, and she noticed his gaze move to the side of her face, then to her neck. "You're all right, you're not-"

"I'm fine," she replied, trying to control both the tears she refused to shed and the anger growing in her chest. But she wouldn't be able to hold back much longer, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from crying, and screaming, and telling him what she really thought for much longer.

Looking down at the floor again, she turned around and headed towards the stairs. She had to go somewhere else, away from Harry, away from his presence and the constant reminder of everything that had happened.

She found strength in her anger, and her movements were fast as she reached the stairs and started climbing them.

"Hermione, wait, please," Harry yelled, and she heard him move after her. She sped her steps as much as she could.

"Harry, just let her go," Sirius said, his voice closer than it should've been. Why couldn't they just stay where they were? Why couldn't they let her escape? "She wants to be alone, Harry, you should-"

"Why?" Harry yelled angrily, and her legs stilled for a second as she turned around. He was looking at Sirius, anger clear in both his tone and his expression.

But Sirius' face held almost as much anger, for some reason. "Because you sent Ginny here, Harry. Because you sent your _wife _to treat her."

She didn't wait to see Harry's reaction; her feet were moving again, faster than before. She had to get away from him. She couldn't have this conversation now.

"Oh, Fuck," Harry growled, and then the sound of steps was back, steps quickly getting closer. She had to move faster, had to find a door and close it behind her, had to find some place safe. But Harry was there, his fingers tight around her arm, reminding her of others chasing her, others catching up, grabbing her arm, throwing her to the ground.

"No," she cried, as she fought him as hard as she could, not because of what was happening now, but because of memories his actions brought back to her mind. Her body acted on its own, fighting for freedom, trying to escape.

"Let go of her, Harry," Sirius said, a clear warning in his voice, and when Harry released her she wasn't sure if it was because of her reaction, or his godfather's arm on his shoulder forcefully pulling him away.

Either way, it was her chance, and she took it.

"Hermione, wait," Harry called again, and then he was following her as she ran down the hallway, trying door after door, her heart thudding in her chest in desperation as she tried to escape, until she finally found a door that was unlocked. But before she could close it behind her Harry was there, holding it open, stepping inside, cornering her, trapping her.

"No," she cried again, as she backed away from him.

"Just leave her alone, you're scaring her!" Sirius yelled, from somewhere behind Harry.

"Stay out of this, Sirius!" Harry yelled back, then focused on her again, his tone slightly more gentle as he spoke to her. "Hermione, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," he told her, as he stepped into the room. "I think we need to talk about-"

"Please, just leave me alone," she said, in a soft, pleading tone, as she took a step back for every step he took forward.

"It's not how it seems," he said. "Ginny and I…"

She closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists until she felt her nails sinking into her skin as fear gave way to anger. She couldn't stand this any more, couldn't stand the fact that he had abandoned her, couldn't stand the fact that he had married another woman so soon, that he had forgotten about her and moved on with his life. But above all, she couldn't stand to hear his explanations.

"I know how this must look, but…things weren't easy for me. When they took you, I was… I suffered, too. It was-"

"You suffered?" she interrupted, unable to hold back any longer. She could feel the tears falling, and she knew she would regret her words, but there was no stopping them any more. How could he say he'd suffered, when she was the one they took, when she was the one they tortured? "You don't know what suffering is. Do you have any idea what they did to me? What they had others do? Take a look for yourself," she said bitterly. "What you see is nothing compared to what they did. I was their prisoner for years, I was…." Her voice broke, and she hastily wiped the tears from her face. "Every time they came for me I wondered if their tortures would finally be too much, waiting for the day when they would hurt me more than I could take, and I would die without seeing you again."

Harry was crying, too, but there was no room in her to feel his pain. She had too much of her own. "For years I waited for you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "For years I survived everything they did to me because I knew you would save me. I believed you were out there looking for me, that all I had to do was wait, and you would find me. I never would have given up on you, I never would have stopped looking. But you never came, Harry, and you never would have."

Harry was moving towards her again, and she backed away from him until she reached the opposite wall, and there was no more room for her to run. "Hermione, please, it's not-"

"You moved on with your life, and I hope you are happy, I do, but don't talk to me about suffering. You have no idea."

She looked away from his pleading face, then closed her eyes. "I can't do this," she whispered. "I have to get out of here." She opened her eyes again, making sure Harry hadn't stepped any closer; she saw Sirius standing a few feet behind him, as if unsure of what he should do. She stepped away from the wall, trying to get to the door without getting any closer to Harry. "I want to go home," she whispered. "I want to see my parents. I…I have to get out of here." She noticed Harry pale slightly as he turned around to look at Sirius. When he turned to her again he looked hesitant for some reason. "What's going on?"

"Hermione, there was…there was an accident, two years ago," Harry started. Just one look at his face and she knew what he would say, but still needed to hear it. "Your parents received a call from the police, they'd found the body of a girl that matched your description. They were driving there to identify the body, but there was an accident on the highway. A drunk driver lost control of his car and…I'm so sorry, Hermione."

She couldn't breath. Her lungs refused to take in any air, and the world spun around her. This couldn't be happening. The only thing she had left, the only people in her life that would never abandon her and they…

Her knees gave way, and she didn't even attempt to catch herself as she fell to the floor.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, running towards her.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, as she backed away from him as fast as she could.

Harry froze, looking surprised and hurt by her reaction, but she couldn't care less. She had to get out of there, she had to-

Her chest hurt, and her lungs were screaming for air, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't take a single breath. There were spots on her vision, and everything was turning black. She vaguely saw Sirius walk into the room, his shoulder hitting Harry's as he walked past him, not stopping until he was next to her.

"Breathe," he said, his hands on her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. "Just breathe, Hermione, you have to breathe," he repeated.

As if by magic, she stopped heaving, and oxygen finally reached her lungs. His words were soothing, his hands on her face comforting."It's okay, I'm here," he whispered. "You're not alone." She found her body leaning closer to him then, her arms wrapping themselves around him, holding him close and letting him hold her, too. She was lost, and alone, and broken, and had lost everyone she had ever loved, including herself. But there was someone here that seemed to care, someone she felt she could trust, someone who understood, and she held on to him as hard as her weak arms would let her. Because she didn't want to feel alone. Because she wanted to feel safe.


	7. The Dreams

There were sounds. Strange sounds. Only she had heard them before, so they shouldn't sound so foreign. There was a constant tic, tic, tic. Water drops hitting something.

Then the sounds changed. There were voices, and metal hitting metal, and then the door to her cell sliding open. She couldn't see anything, but she could almost feel the steps getting closer as the voices laughed and called for her.

Suddenly magic swirled the air, and the cold shackles around her wrists pulled her to her feet. There was someone in front of her, and someone else behind her. She was still blinded by their magic, but she didn't care. Feeling them and hearing them was bad enough. She didn't need to see them, too.

There were lips by her neck, and a rasped voice whispered almost sweetly into her ear, "_Crucio."_

She screamed and twisted as the curse ran through her body, her back arching as the pain made her lose control of her muscles. But even through the pain she could still feel the hands on her hips, their bodies against her. The sound of the same voice murmuring "You'll love this, Little One," was audible even through her screams, and when she felt his hands on her thighs, parting them, she screamed even louder. She knew what was going to happen, and, worse yet, she knew there was nothing she could do to stop them. There never was.

But then the pain was gone, and there were hands on her shoulders, shaking her, and when she opened her eyes, there was light. She could still feel their hands on her body, but they weren't there any more.

"It's okay," another voice was saying softly. "It was just a dream, you're safe."

She pushed away from the hands and scrambled off the bed, sitting against a wall, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her head between them, trying to shut everything out. It had been a dream, she was awake now, but she still felt the pain in her body as if they had lifted the Cruciatus Curse only moments ago, still felt their dirty hands on her, scratching, bruising, and still felt him calling her Little One as he pushed himself inside of her.

"It was just a nightmare," Sirius said, from somewhere close beside her. She lifted her head enough to peek around her. Sirius was sitting a few feet away, careful to keep his distance. More reassuring words left his lips when their eyes met, but unlike before, they weren't enough to make her feel better.

"Come," he said after a few moments, "Let's go get some coffee." When she didn't move he smiled and stood up. "Tell you what, I'll get everything ready, and you can come down to the kitchen when you feel like it, okay?"

Hermione didn't follow him right away. She stayed where she was for a long time, trying to will her heart to calm down, and her brain to forget the dream. But when she finally walked downstairs he was waiting for her, a steaming cup of coffee in front of the chair she had used before. He didn't say anything as she walked into the kitchen and sat down, and she enjoyed the silence as she sipped the coffee.

"I remember the first few months after I escaped Azkaban," he murmured, as he started on his second cup. "Every time I fell asleep I would dream I was still there. I dreamed about the Dementors, and the torture, and when I woke up I was never sure what was real and what was dream." She kept her eyes on her cup as she listened to him, trying to hide her surprise at what he was saying. "I remember dreaming they found me and took me back to the prison, and I woke up terrified every single time."

There was bitterness in his voice as he spoke, a bitterness she had never heard from him before. She remembered him after they'd first met, after he'd escaped Azkaban. She remembered him acting reckless, and sometimes immature, but never afraid, or broken, never as if he'd gone through something similar to what she had.

"You will have nightmares for a long time," he said, and when she finally looked at him he was looking away, his eyes glazed over, as if he was lost in his own memories of hell. "At first they will come every night, and you'll try to stay awake for as long as you can, only to avoid the memories and the fear they bring. Then they will come every other night, then every other week, until one day they will be the exception, and not the rule." He looked at her now, and his smile was a sad one. "They'll never completely go away, you can't erase your past, and you can't stop it from haunting you in your dreams, but it will get better, and one day you won't be afraid of falling asleep any more."

"I didn't know that you…" she started, but she couldn't put it into words. How could she ask him about what he had been through, when she knew how painful the memories could be?

"They don't like Death Eaters in Azkaban," he said, shaking his head slightly. "They like traitors even less."

"But you aren't a-"

"That doesn't really matter when you're there. More coffee?" he suddenly asked, and she wasn't sure whether he was trying to change the subject or had just realised she had finished her cup. Either way, she didn't push.

"Yes, please," she simply muttered, moving the cup towards him when he reached forward, watching him pour the still hot liquid into it and then cradling the cup between her hands, enjoying the warmth.

"I know you said you would only stay here tonight," he suddenly said, "but there's more than enough room, if you'd rather stay longer. I certainly don't mind the company."

She had only agreed to stay there that night because she had nowhere else to go. The house she'd once shared with Harry was now occupied by his wife, and her aunt's family lived in her parents' house. But where could she go? She had no money to get a place of her own, or even pay for a hotel, not that she could've gone to one; the thought of being on her own, surrounded by so many strangers, in a place where they could find her… But could she really take Sirius' offer? Could she stay there, at least temporarily?

"It's okay," he said, as if he'd read her thoughts. "You don't have to make a decision now. Just know that you can stay here for as long as you want. The house is big enough that you can be on your own if you want to. Wouldn't even have to see me," he said, with a smile, and suddenly all the pain, and the memories, and the fear was gone from his expression, just like that. How could he do it? How could he hide all those emotions behind a smile?

They fell silent again, as she finished the second cup of coffee. For some reason her stomach seemed to be getting used to the change in diet fast enough.

"I know you don't like potions, but I have a few vials of Dreamless Potion. They're in the cupboard by the stairs, if you want to take some."

"Thank you," she muttered, although she didn't think she would take them.

Sirius reached inside his pocket and pulled out a wand. "Harry left this for you before leaving. He thought you might need it."

Her eyes widened in surprise at seeing her old wand, and she instantly reached forward, her fingers freezing an inch from it. She had lost her wand the night they had attacked them. All her years of training, all the magic she had learnt, the spells she had memorised, hadn't been enough to stop them from taking her. Sirius noticed her hesitation and laid the wand on the table. Staring at it, a part of her wondered why Harry had kept it all these years.

She moved her hand away, wrapped it around the mug and went back to staring at the coffee, trying not to think and failing miserably. But among all the thoughts that plagued her, one slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

"Did you meet my parents?"

"I…" Sirius seemed startled by the question, but quickly recovered. "I met them twice, after I got back from…" he hesitated again before saying, "from the veil."

"Were they okay?"

He was silent for a few moments, and then a sad smile twisted his lips. "What happened to you… it wasn't easy for them. But they loved you very much, and they were sure you were still alive. They never lost hope, even when everyone else seemed to." He fell silent again, and his expression was uncertain, as if he wasn't sure he should say anything else. "I only spoke to your mother once. She said she remembered you telling her about me, about how we met, and how you saved me. She said she was proud of you, that you always were strong and brave, and that you would hold on, that they would find you and bring you back home."

"I wish I could have seen them one more time," she whispered, almost to herself, as she took a deep breath and tried not to cry. "I'm so tired of crying," she said, when a single tear rolled down her cheek. She took a deep, shaky breath, not sure why she was saying all this, but unable to stop herself now that she had started. "I'm so tired of feeling weak. In all the years that they…in all the time I was gone, I never cried. Not once. Even with everything they did, I didn't break, I didn't give in. I never stopped fighting. And now I'm free, and I feel so lost. I'm so scared all the time…I don't want to be scared any more."

"You don't have to. You're safe here."

She gave him a sad smile as she said, "I wish I could believe you."


	8. The Boy

She hadn't gone back to sleep. No matter how tired her body still was, she wouldn't risk another nightmare, wouldn't risk going through her past again, seeing and feeling all they had done to her, even if it was only in dreams. But she didn't want to talk, either, so she'd gone back to the bedroom she'd slept in and sat on the bed, her back against the headboard and her knees pulled up against her chest as the sun slowly came up, shone through the window and chased the shadows away.

Every time she closed her eyes, she was transported back to her cell, the memories so strong she could smell the musky air, feel the cold seeping through the stones, hear their voices as they talked and laughed, always planning what they would do to her next. When her eyes were open she could see the marks on her skin, the scars, the bruises, the burns, the cuts. How could she ever feel safe when there was no real escape from them? She had gotten away, yes, but they were still with her, every minute, every second, plaguing her thoughts and dreams, reminding her of how weak she was, how worthless, reminding her that no matter what she did, she couldn't erase the past, could never forget.

The knock on the door distracted her, and she wondered how long she'd been sitting there. If her stiff muscles were any indication, probably hours.

"May I come in?" Sirius asked, and waited for her reply before opening the door and stepping in. "I have something for you," he said, with that smile she was quickly getting used to, as he moved closer to the bed, carrying a few large bags in each hand.

"What's that?"

"It's for you," he said, setting the bags on the bed by her feet. "I thought you might want to wear something other than loose old sweatpants and shirts."

She hesitated for a second, then reached forward to peer inside the closest bag.

"I asked the store manager to send a bit of everything, but you can return or change anything you don't like."

She let go of the bag and looked up at him again. "Thank you."

He smiled and shrugged, then said, "I asked them to put a Self-Fitting Charm on everything, so sizes shouldn't be a problem. Now, lunch is almost ready, so why don't you try some of that on and come to the kitchen? Do you like spaghetti, by the way?"

"I do."

"Wonderful. I'll go back to check on it, then. Hurry."

She waited until Sirius was gone, then took the bags one by one and emptied them on the bed. He'd brought her underwear, jeans, skirts, dresses, shirts and tops. He had also bought her shoes and sandals and even pyjamas with matching slippers.

She picked some underwear, jeans and a shirt from the pile and returned everything else to the bags. It wasn't until she had taken her clothes off that she noticed the mirror by the dresser. By then, there was no stopping her feet from carrying her over to it, or her eyes from taking in what had become of her. She was thin, so thin that she felt as if her skin was just hanging from the bones, her ribs and hips jutting out, her stomach hollow. She hadn't realised how thin she was until then; she had been careful not to look. She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and opened them again. She had to see now.

Her fingers moved to her throat, tracing the long scar the serrated knife had left there. There was another scar close to it, leftover from that night they had spent trying to see who could cast the most powerful Cruciatus Curse. Somewhere along the night her collarbone had broken and pierced the skin, jutting out horribly, covering her body in blood. She knew it must have hurt, but she couldn't remember anything other than the pain from the curses.

The puckered scar between her breasts looked worse than she remembered against her white skin. It was from one of the first nights; she had fought them, they hadn't liked it. They thought a stab to the heart would teach her a lesson. It hadn't.

There were faint pink lines all over her torso, from where she guessed Ginny had healed the scars there. There were scratches and bruises on her legs, too, but most of them she couldn't remember getting.

Then she looked at her arms. They were covered in burn scars. The first time she had tried to escape they'd caught her and thrown her into the fireplace. She had been lucky only her arms had been burned. They'd spent the rest of that week making her regret the attempt.

Her gaze wondered upwards again, to her face, the brand mark they'd left on her cheek, the empty eyes that were looking back at her. She didn't dare turn around and look at her back. This was already too much.

Turning away from the mirror, she took the clothes she'd left on the bed and quickly put them on, feeling them adjust to her body.

She wasn't hungry, but perhaps some food wasn't a bad idea, if only for the distraction it would provide. She walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her before making her way to the stairs. She was halfway down when she heard voices. She froze.

Sliding closer to the wall, she felt her heart hammer in her chest as she listened carefully for any sign of danger. One of the voices belonged to Sirius, and the other she didn't recognize, although it sounded familiar.

She was safe now, she tried to remind herself. They couldn't get to her in this house. She didn't have to be afraid. She waited for a few more moments, and then decided she would walk down the rest of the steps and go to the kitchen like she had planned. No more staying on the stairs or going back to the bedroom scared. She would be brave.

"Hey," Sirius said when he saw her, with a broad smile on his lips.

The man he had been talking to was Remus, and his smile was much more tentative when he turned to her, but still warm. She didn't see the pity and sadness that she'd seen on Harry or Ginny's faces as they'd looked at her, so that was good.

They all remained in silence for a few seconds, as if none of them was sure what to say, and then a third voice caught her attention.

"Who are you?" a child asked, his head cocked to the side as he watched her, eyes bright with curiosity.

"This is my friend Hermione," Sirius said. "Hermione, this is-"

But before he could finish the boy started running towards her, stopping barely a step away and holding out his hand. It took all her self-control not to back away from the sudden movement.

"My name is Teddy Lupin," he said, reaching for her hand and shaking it firmly. Then he closed his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, and a second later his hair turned purple.

He opened his eyes again and reached for a lock of hair with his free hand, pulling it down so he could see it.

"You're purple," he said with a grin. "I like purple. Are you Uncle Sirius' girlfriend?"

"I told you she's my friend," Sirius said. "And what were you doing in the kitchen? You haven't been stealing any of my chocolate muffins, have you?"

"No," Teddy quickly replied, shaking his head and hiding his hands behind his back.

Narrowing his eyes, Sirius stepped closer to the boy. They stared at one another for a few seconds, then Sirius said, "You lying little devil!" and launched forward, grabbing the boy around the waist and flinging him over his shoulder as Teddy screamed and laughed and kicked, his hair changing colour wildly as Sirius carried him back into the kitchen. She hadn't even noticed she was holding on to the handrail so tightly that her knuckles had turned white as she kept telling herself she wasn't in danger, and neither was the boy, that he wasn't screaming for help, like she'd heard so many others do.

"I'm not sure which one's worse," Remus said, and she turned to him again. His smiled wavered as he looked at her. "How are you d…Merlin," he said, running his hand through his hair. "I have no idea what to say."

"It's okay."

"I just…this is such a surprise, I'd no idea…didn't know you were alive, that you were here, no one does. I'm…" He took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair once more and tried again. "I'm so glad you're back."

"You might want to hurry, Hermione. Little devil here's going to eat everything," Sirius called just then, saving her the trouble of coming up with a response. Teddy's laughter carried all the way to the stairs.

"I should get going," Remus said, awkwardly, "Dora's waiting at home. I'm…I'm truly glad you're back."

She managed a small, "Thank you," as she headed towards the kitchen, hearing Remus shout a quick goodbye to Teddy and Sirius, and then the door closing.

"I didn't eat your food," Teddy said around a mouthful of spaghetti the second she stepped into the kitchen, tomato sauce splattered all over his lips and cheeks.

"Only because I stopped him," Sirius told her with a wink, as he motioned for her to take her chair by the wall. She wondered if perhaps he knew why she always took that chair, why she kept her back to the wall whenever she could. She didn't dare ask.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Teddy let his fork clatter loudly against the empty plate, announcing he was done. "Can I have the muffins now?" When Sirius didn't reply right away, he added "Pleeeease?" with a charming smile.

"All right, but wash your face first, you look like you fell into the sauce pan head first."

Teddy jumped out of his chair and ran to the sink, going on tiptoes and stretching his arms as he tried to reach the tap.

"It's Remus and Tonks' anniversary, and I agreed to look after Teddy today. With all the…things happening, I forgot to tell you," Sirius said.

"Do you like muffins?" asked Teddy, as he moved his chair closer to hers and sat down again. He put a plate full of chocolate muffins between them before giving her time to reply, his hair turning purple again.

"I do."

He got on his knees on the chair and took one of the muffins, stuffing it into his mouth in a way that reminded her of Ron and Hogwarts.

"I like muffins, too, don't I get any?" Sirius asked, and Teddy took one and leaned over the table to give it to him. Then he pushed the plate closer to her, prompting her to take one, and when he looked up at her again there was a small frown on his face.

"What happened to you?" he asked, reaching forward and touching the scar on the side of her face. She tried hard not to shy away from the touch as she closed her eyes and took a small breath.

"I got burned."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, and she shook her head slightly. "And here?" He moved his fingers to her throat.

"A cut," she whispered, leaning away from him.

"I have a scar, too," Teddy informed her, pulling at the neck of his shirt to show her his shoulder, and the small white scar there. "It's from when I fell off a broom," he explained. Then he stood up on the chair and lifted the leg of his trousers all the way to the knee. "This one is from when I fell from a tree. It was the tallest tree, and falling hurt a lot, but I didn't cry. Did your scar hurt, too?"

"It did," she said. "But I didn't cry either," she added, in almost a whisper.

"Uncle Sirius has scars, too, don't you?" he asked, but didn't give him time to reply. "And Daddy, too. I only have two. When I fell from the tree Daddy said I can't climb any more, but Mummy said I can, but I have to be careful. Mummy falls a lot, too, like me."

"Speaking of trees," Sirius interrupted, "I think there's something for you in the tree house."

With a cheerful scream, Teddy jumped out of his chair and dashed for the door leading to the garden.

"I'm sorry about that," Sirius said, as he waved his wand and cleared the table. "He's just like his mother, never shuts up."

"It's okay."

"So, did you like the clothes?"

"Yes, thank you. You shouldn't have."

"Teddy likes you," he said. "He even gave you his favourite colour. He really likes purple."

"So Remus and Tonks finally got married."

"They did."

"Remus said he hadn't known I was here. I thought by now…"

"I talked to Harry, and we agreed it would be best if we didn't tell anyone for now. Until you were ready. The moment they find out you're back, and staying here…they'll blow the door away if they have to, just to see you. I thought you might not want them to-"

"Can't open it!" Teddy interrupted, as he burst through the door, making her jump, and she closed her eyes for a second, reminding herself once again that she was safe there. When she opened her eyes again she saw Teddy had a small package in his hand, and was struggling to unwrap it.

"Oh, that can't be right," Sirius said. "Have you tried using your teeth?"

The package was in Teddy's mouth in a split second, as he tried to tear the wrapping paper off with his teeth. After a few moments, he stomped his foot impatiently and tried to bite a corner off entirely. It still didn't work.

"I wonder…" Sirius said, with a thoughtful expression. "Do you still have the wand George gave you?"

With a small gasp of excitement, Teddy dropped the package onto the table, running out of the kitchen and returning seconds later with a small toy wand in his hand. He ran back to the table and pointed the wand at the package, then looked at Sirius.

"I don't know any spells," he said, with a frown.

"Well, I can't remember any either. Maybe you should ask Hermione," Sirius suggested in a whisper.

"Do you know any spells, Her…mimi?" Teddy asked, stammering over her name.

"Yes, do you know any spells, Hermimi?"

She managed a small scowl in Sirius' direction that made his grin widen, but focused on Teddy as she said, "I know one."

"What do I say?" he asked, turning back to the package and pressing his wand harder into it.

"_Diffindo_," she said, and noticed Sirius reaching for his own wand and aiming it at Teddy's package.

"_Disindo_!" Teddy shouted, poking at the package with his wand repeatedly as a few sparks shot from the tip. "I did it!" he yelled as the wrapping paper was sliced down the middle. He tore the rest of the paper off, grinning when he saw a book inside.

Without a word, he took Hermione's hand and all but dragged her out of the kitchen and into the library, sitting down on one of the large sofas and making her sit next to him. Then he handed his new book to her, his smile never wavering. "Read?"

"He loves stories, just like his daddy," Sirius said, as he walked into the room and sat in front of them.

She looked down at the book in her hands, only now reading the title. It brought back so many memories from another life, a war, the aftermath, that she wasn't sure she could do it. But then Teddy slid closer to her, resting his head on her arm as he tried to see the pictures, just like she had done so many times when she was just a little girl begging her mother to read to her.

She felt something warm inside her at the memories of her childhood, a mixture of fondness and loss, but for once her memories didn't cause fear. She looked up at Sirius, who offered a reassuring smile, and she wondered just how well he understood her feelings, wondered what kind of hell he had been through and how he managed to move on.

Her hesitation seemed to last longer than Teddy's patience did, and he reached for the book, opening it for her and bringing her attention back to the story he wanted her to read. The Tale of the Three Brothers. She took a deep breath and started.

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…"


End file.
